


Buff

by Writing-The-Ghostbusters (writingfanfic)



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Loving Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 17:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16223738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-The-Ghostbusters
Summary: For the prompt: 'I wanted to ask you whether you were comfortable writing NSFW stuff for Egon? I really want to see how would he make love to a (Female/AFAB) Reader'Here ya go! Written entirely one-handed, what a feat...





	Buff

You lay back on the bed, and Egon clambers atop you, kissing you as his leg pushes between yours.

“Dr. Spengler, I am barely out of my work clothes.”

“We’re out of work,” he says, completely innocently, and you can’t help but smirk a little. “I mean… I apologise for setting aside 6-12 hours a day for my career, but outside of that, I choose to dedicate that to whatever I want. And mating is a biological imperative. Especially when you’re wearing your red lingerie. Which I did see before you headed out.”

“I was hoping to make you steam…”

“Well, as you know, I am excellent at separating my home-life and my work-life. But we’re at home now.” His hand slides up and over your hip, cupping your breast as he strokes you with his thumb. “Do you know that you’re incredibly, strikingly beautiful?”

“Do  _you_  know that you’re very handsome?” you counter, and he begins to unbutton your dress at the side.

“I’ve never really been called handsome before you. Somebody in college once referred to me as ‘strikingly pretty’,” he says, kissing your décolletage as his fingers work, and you snort with laughter. “But you are beautiful, and I am a very lucky man to have you as a mate.”

“Build me a nice nest and I’m yours,” you tease, and he grins at you – you take his glasses from his face before kissing him passionately, and he grips your hip, grinding against you slowly. His touch sends shivers down your spine; you kiss him, and then he buries his head in your neck, kissing it gently.

“Do you want a rundown of pheromones in your sweat?” he asks, and then gently bites your throat – you gasp, and shiver. “Or would you rather I demonstrate the effect they have?”

“How do you make that sound romantic?” you ask, and he slides his hand under your shirt.

“Probably the baritone,” he says, deadpan but for the smirk, and then strokes his fingers gently down your ribs, nails catching only slightly on your skin. You shiver again, and he runs his fingers through your hair. “Or the fact that I know where all your erogenous zones are… including a few not officially recognised by science. Yet.”

“ _Dark_  science. My  _favourite_.”

“Well, would you love me if I was bound by things like ‘morality’ and ‘ethics’?” he says, and it takes you a moment of time, and for you to catch his tone, to realise he’s – mostly – joking. By that point, your shirt has been thrown aside, and he dips his head, gently kissing between your breasts. “You are… so beautiful.”

“And you’re handsome, like I said.” He grins, and you sit up, unbuttoning his sweater vest. “Why are you wearing so many layers?”

“Manhattan is cold, ghosts lower the temperature of an area, and I know the sweater vest drive you wild in some strange ‘hot for teacher way’. Logic says it’s a good choice.” You roll your eyes, and then start on his shirt – he’s  _oddly_  buff under all that nerd clothing, but you guess he hauls around his proton pack every day. It’s less obvious muscle, and more feeling that strength in his grip and seeing his muscles shift under his skin – rawr, as you would usually say. “Did I mention that you’re beautiful?”

“You did, but mention it again.” You discard his shirt, and he unclips your bra – front-fasteners were invented by the gods for the good of all – and gently his mouth lowers to your nipple, breath warm on your sensitive skin. “Oh-h-h…”

He knows how to tease – his tongue is pointed and frantic and then slow and flat, alternating as you writhe a little, and you hear him undo his belt.

“I wanted…” You moan. “To do that.”

“Well, you have next time,” he says, dryly, and kisses his way up to your neck again, before gently taking your hand – he kisses down your arm slowly, and feeling his lips on your pulse point in the crease of your wrist is still as good a turn-on as the first day he did so. You shiver, and realise you’re being a little passive in this whole ‘sex’ thing – you grab the end of his belt, sliding it smoothly out of his jeans, and wink at him.

“I’m helping.” Why do you feel like such a brainless idiot around him? Scratch that, why do you  _speak_  like such a brainless idiot?! He grins, though, and you love that bright smile with those dark eyes so intense – and then he gently bites at the skin of your wrist, keeping going all the way down to your elbow, and you nearly dissolve into a pile of giggling goo. “May I take off your pants?  _Dr._ Spengler?”

“You may,” he says, and you push yourself up, unzipping his fly and pulling at his pants just to give you spaces – he pushes you down and kisses you, cradling your face in his rough fingers. He leaves you breathless – knows just when to kiss harder, and when to pull away. You wonder if he’s ever experimented on someone to find out – the pang of jealousy in your stomach leaves you to bite his lip gently, and he hisses quietly. “Ah…”

“Come  _on_ ,” you say, impatiently, and he sighs.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No, but you do,” you purr, and he actually closes his eyes. “Do you not like my jokes? Do you have any statistics about the closeness of a relationship and humour during lovemaking?”

“More than you want to hear.” He kisses you, and you push his jeans down – he pushes them further, and then gently reaches between your thighs and begins to rub you with his thumb; you whimper and grind down, and he kisses you softly. “Touch me.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and stroke him through his boxers. Every time you marvel that this is  _Egon_  – this is the  _Dr. Spengler_  you came to work for, the quiet… well, nerd, in the corner, who you never assumed would like you – in fact, you didn’t assume he was interested in anyone. You learned a solid lesson that quiet, geeky and reticent does not equal asexual, or vice versa, well enough.

You splay your other hand over his chest, and he leans his forehead to yours, kissing you as his eyes close to better focus on your touch; his jaw tenses and then drops open as you push your hand inside his underwear, stroking his erection.

“Wow,” he murmurs, and kisses the shell of your ear through your hair. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” you say, kissing along that excellent jawline, and squirm as he touches you. “Is ‘I want you inside me’ too cheesy?”

“I think it communicates the concept  _very_  efficiently,” he says, the little hoarse growl in his voice not bypassing you, and pulls down your underwear, returning to slide a finger inside you slowly and gently. You exhale, squirming as you forget to keep stroking him, and he clears his throat. “Are you forgetting something?”

“No,” you grin, and he rolls his eyes.

“I see what you want. Okay.” He slides his fingers back out of you, and kisses you hard as he guides your thighs around his waist. You slide your hand down between you to guide him, and then he presses his lips to yours as he slides into you. You gasp a little against his mouth, and don’t miss his little smirk before he exhales sharply, grinding his hips into you.

“Your hip control is… supernatural.” There’s a pause, and then he shakes his head, smiling against your shoulder. You grin, and he kisses you, fingers sinking into your hips as he grinds into you – you run your fingers through his hair, and he kisses your cheek lovingly.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, and you cling to him, pulling him in with your feet. “I get the message…” He slides his hand underneath you and lifts you to slide in deeper, and you moan, tilting your head back. Your hand is still between you, and you begin to rub yourself as he thrusts into you. “I want to do that…”

“Then do,” you purr breathlessly, and he kisses your neck, teeth nipping at the skin of your jaw. He grips your other wrist, and pins it back as he kisses down to your breasts, craning to leave little bites between them. “Oh…?”

“Maybe I’d prefer my hands free to do other things.” He pushes himself up, hips rolling into you, and moans softly in your ear before nibbling the shell of it. “Sweetheart…”

You gently pull his hair and buck your hips up, tensing so that you tighten around him – the response is a desperate, deep moan and his hand transferring back beneath you to lift you, and you feel yourself tingle, shivering against him and feeling goosebumps all over your arms. You run your free hand down his neck and over his back muscles –  _you invested in the right one_ , you think, grinning as you kiss his shoulder – and dig your nails in.

“My pack will rub, don’t leave scratches,” he mumbles breathlessly, and you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling as he fills you, chest heaving and pressing against yours. He has chest hair – once again, you backed the right horse – and you drag your fingers through it, enjoying his pants of pleasure as you arch against him, lifted by his rough, warm palm in the small of your back. You feel electrified – his touch is so delicate but it feels burned into your skin, and you bite at his shoulder to stifle your louder moans. You know he would tell you, if he were not concentrating so hard on fucking you like this, not to stifle them – something something  _natural_ something something  _science_  – but you find it builds up your pleasure to keep them in, makes you desperate, makes you…

“Egon,” you gasp, choking on the word as you feel yourself tighten around him, and then heat blooms inside you and you tense, moaning wordlessly as he grips your thigh, pulling you so close it almost hurts. He mutters something, kissing your cheek a little sloppily – you shiver, knowing he’s close to losing control, and pull your hand up. Every thrust against you is so sensitive and you’re whimpering by the time he huffs in your ear, cumming deep inside you with a series of sharp thrusts that makes you yelp as your sensitive clit brushes against him.

“Wow,” he says, after a moment, and you kiss him, biting his lip again for good measure. “You’ve got strong teeth. Remind me to sign up to your dentist.”

“Romantic,” you grin, and he pushes himself up.

“You’re going to be far more romanced when you find out that I placed an order for takeout. It should be arriving in about…” He looks at the alarm clock, drawing patterns on your skin. “A half hour. Plenty of time for us to bask in the oxytocin. Right?”

“I love you,” you say, fondly, and he kisses you.

“I’m a lucky man.”


End file.
